


Just a Flesh Wound (or not)

by embroiderama



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small injury turns into a big problem for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Flesh Wound (or not)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://sgflutegirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**sgflutegirl**](http://sgflutegirl.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://h50-exchange.livejournal.com/profile)[**h50_exchange**](http://h50-exchange.livejournal.com/) and beta'd by [](http://zortified.livejournal.com/profile)[**zortified**](http://zortified.livejournal.com/). Originally posted [here](http://h50-exchange.livejournal.com/4821.html).

There was rarely room for error in Steve's world, but this op had more riding on it than most--not only the safety of innocent civilians but the long-term viability of the team as well. They'd just barely managed to get Kono cleared, get her reinstated and back on the team, and while they were working as usual--staying busy and solving cases--Steve could feel that the team was still struggling to find its balance in the aftermath of so many upheavals. Their relationship with the new governor was tentative, and when the governor's niece came to visit from the mainland and ended up on a tour boat that ran afoul of gun runners? Anything less than the most desirable outcome was unacceptable.

Chin had quickly worked out the boat's coordinates, and within minutes they were mobilizing--Steve with Jenna and Chin on the way to the marina where a HPD boat waited, Danny and Kono speeding to the helicopter pad. Both the HPD boat and the copter would move in but stay just out of sight of the captured boat, while Steve would be the one to swim in, approaching the boat from underneath to take advantage of the element of surprise before the rest of the team closed in. When a piece of rusty metal sliced through his neoprene bootie and into the side of his foot as he boarded the boat, it wasn't even a concern. He flicked it aside like the mental equivalent of a fruit fly and kept his focus on the objective.

He took down the head scumbag, disabled his second-in-command, and while he secured the governor's niece, the welcome sound of chopper blades moved in from above. Before the rest of the gun runners could figure out their next move, Danny and Kono were down on the boat, cuffing them with zip-ties. A few of the passengers had minor injuries and the captain had what looked like a decent concussion, but overall it was a good day. The governor sounded pleased over the phone, and the entire case was another step in the right direction, another measure of safety for the future of Steve's team.

That evening, they celebrated with pizza and beer, and the next day there was another case to work--business as usual.

~~~

"Hey, Hopalong!"

Steve froze at the sound of Danny's voice behind him and cursed himself for letting the limp show. It had been a long day, more tedious than dangerous--unlike the day before--but that was no excuse for being lazy. The cut on his foot was nothing; he'd disinfected and bandaged it the night before, and his tetanus shot was up-to-date. He'd worked and fought through a hell of a lot more than an overblown paper cut. Taking care to keep his steps even, Steve turned around to face his partner. "Hopalong? Isn't that your name, Mr. Trick Knee?"

"Ha ha. Seriously, you hurt yourself?"

Danny looked concerned, and it was ridiculously unnecessary. "It's fine. I just rolled my ankle a little running this morning." Yeah, not likely, given that the rhythmic pounding of his foot on sand was too annoying to let his morning run clear his head the way it usually did. He'd cut it short, barely a mile, and went for a swim instead. Still, it was nothing, just a big, harmless horsefly buzzing in his ear. Steve had done what needed to do, he'd taken care of the cut; now he just needed to ignore it until it healed.

"Yeah, you have it wrapped? I can wield a mean Ace bandage if you need it."

"What are you now, my physical therapist?"

"Rachel has weak ankles." Danny shrugged. "And she likes high heels. I learned how to wrap them for her when she needed it."

"Oh really? Well, I'm not in need of your elite foot-bandaging skills, Danno. I'm fine." And he was. He mentally squashed that fly and brushed it of his skin as he turned away.

Danny's words, "Whatever you say, man," followed Steve as he walked toward his office, steps even and strong.

~~~

By the time he got home that evening, a headache had set itself up in Steve's head, a relentless thud that somehow reminded him of Danny's voice. He didn't feel like eating dinner, didn't feel like going for another swim. It had been a long week, he told himself, and it was only Wednesday; even he deserved a pass now and then. He drank a beer on the lanai and then dragged himself up to bed, a little more limp in his step that he would've admitted to Danny or anybody else.

That night he slept like shit, the air too still, the room too warm. His headache and the trifling pain in his foot followed him into restless dreams of running endlessly through deserts and rain forests, never more than one step ahead of something, something with sharp teeth and hot, fetid breath. He woke before his alarm, covered in sweat and more exhausted than he'd been the night before.

He stumbled to the bathroom, angling his foot to put more of his weight on his instep than the outside of his foot, and walked straight into the shower. The rushing water washed away the layer of sticky sweat and took the edge off both his exhaustion and the lingering headache. As he dried himself off, he checked out the cut on his foot. The bandage had fallen off, and it didn't look great. Still, it was just a small cut, nothing serious. He slathered on a layer of Neosporin and taped a new bandage on, tossed a couple of Tylenol back with a sip of water. He'd take it easy for a few days, take a break from running; it would heal up in no time.

Still, by the time Steve had been at work for half an hour and the rest of the team started showing up, the pain in his foot and the beating drum in his head were distracting him from the data he was trying to analyze. It felt like more than a fly this time, a wasp maybe--distracting and painful but still not any kind of a real challenge. He saw Danny walking toward his office and knew he needed to be able to focus if he didn't want Mr. I'm-so-great-with-an-Ace-bandage molesting his foot. He imagined himself in combat boots, stomped on that wasp with his uninjured foot. It was gone.

"Hey, we've got some breakfast stuff out here, you want?"

The thought of malasadas or ham and cheese biscuits or whatever greasy nightmare would be waiting out there turned Steve's stomach, and he had to swallow hard to clear the phantom taste from his mouth. "Thanks, I'm good."

"Because I'm an awesome partner, I even picked you up one of those disgusting orange-pineapple protein shake things you like so much. Even Kono gave that one a side-eye."

Steve swallowed again, irritation kicking his headache up into another gear. He smacked his pen down on the desk but refused to look up at Danny. "I said I didn't want anything, and I still don't. Thanks."

"You just going to let it go to waste, all those little soybeans giving their lives for nothing?"

Steve felt his fingers twitching into a fist. The office was too hot, the air conditioning crapping out again probably, and all he wanted was peace and quiet so he could concentrate on his work and keep all the petty complaints from his body shut down. "I didn't ask for the damn shake, Danny."

"Yeah, maybe not, but you're sure asking for _something_. I don't know what kind of bug crawled up your ass but I think the rest of us would appreciate it if you--"

Steve looked up then, " _I_ 'd appreciate it if--"

"Hey." Suddenly Danny was in Steve's space, his voice different, concerned instead of angry. "What's wrong with you? For real, you look like shit."

Steve rolled his eyes and then had to close them for a second as the rapid pounding in his head increased in force. He felt Danny's hand on his face and snapped his eyes open. "Would you stop it?"

"No. You know why?" Danny shifted his hand down to Steve's neck. "You, my friend, have a hell of a fever. And your heart's racing like you've been chasing terrorists or purse snatchers or something, when I happen to know you've been sitting on your ass behind this desk for at least an hour. And I don't even smell any coffee in here. Why didn't you call in sick?"

"I'm not sick." Steve shook his head, regretted it immediately when the pain swelled. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, and I'm six feet tall. Hey look, we both lied--now come on, let me give you a ride home." Danny snatched up Steve's keys from the desk and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "Come on, behave for once and you can take some Nyquil, hit the sack."

"I really don't think Nyquil's going to help my f--" Steve bit back the words he hadn't meant to say.

Danny's concerned look turned more intense. "Not going to help your what? Your fever? Of course it will."

"Forget about it," Steve snapped. He stood up and pushed past Danny; if he could just splash some water on his face he could clear his head, get some actual work done. Each step hurt, the ache pushing up through his foot into his leg, but he shoved the pain to the side as best he could.

"Your foot?" Danny's voice behind him made Steve pause mid-step, almost stumble, and then Danny was in front of him, blocking his progress toward the men's room. "That's what you almost said, right? What's wrong with your foot?"

"It's nothing!" Steve moved to dart around Danny, but the rapid movement made the room swim, the floor suddenly murky underneath him, and he stumbled for real this time, caught himself hard on his bad foot, and a hot wave of pain crashed through his body, followed fast by a chill. The wasp was back, with friends--circling him, buzzing in his ears

Steve had his eyes slammed closed, but through the thick buzz in his head he could hear Danny's voice, "Hey, hey, whoa, sit down," and feel strong hands on his ribs, taking some of his weight, guiding him down to the floor. He sat with his eyes closed, gagged a little against the twist of sickness in his belly, thought he might've thrown up if he'd had anything in his stomach. He could hear Kono and Chin's voices approaching and then felt the slide of fabric as his pant leg was pushed up, the touch of cool hands on his ankle.

Steve resisted the instinct to kick and instead opened his eyes, squinting against the light that made his head hurt worse, and saw Danny crouching in front of him. "Stop groping me."

"Boss, I think you better let him check you out."

Steve looked up at Kono. "Would you get him off of me? Please?"

Kono shook her head, and Steve cringed at a new pulse of pain in his foot, looked down to see Danny pulling his shoe off, followed by the sock.

"Damn it, Steve. This is bad."

"Doesn't look good, brah," Chin chimed in from above.

Steve leaned his head back against the cool cement wall. "It's just a cut. I put stuff on it, Neosporin."

"Oh, that's great. I'll be sure to tell that to the nice paramedics who are on their way to take you away in their ambulance."

"No, come on." Steve heard himself whining and forced himself to stop. "Just help me get to the car. If--if it'll make you happy you can take me to the doctor. They can give me a shot or something, whatever."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not willing to let you pass out on the steps out front and add a busted head to your horrifically infected foot here, Steven. Not happening."

Steve wanted to argue that it wasn't that bad, that Danny was over-reacting like usual, but there was real fear on his partner's face. The kind of fear he'd only ever shown when things were seriously bad. And arguing took energy that suddenly Steve couldn't quite find. The wall felt good, so he closed his eyes. He felt a hand on his face, another on his shoulder, and then everything faded away.

~~~

When Steve woke, it was quiet. His head wasn't pounding, and his foot didn't hurt. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, but enough light was filtering through his eyelids that he knew the room wasn't dark. As quiet as it was, he had the feeling he wasn't alone. The smell of disinfectant in the air and the sharp prick of a needle in his hand when he tensed the muscles in his arms all told him he was in the hospital.

As Steve listened, the quiet started to resolve into small sounds: the beeping of a monitor turned down low, wheels and footsteps passing in the hallway, the crisp sound of paper moving nearby. It sounded like a newspaper being folded and then smoothed. The person with the newspaper cleared their throat.

"You waking up? Steve?"

Danny. Steve had a vague impression that Danny was mad at him, but he opened his eyes anyway, squinting against the glare of overhead lights.

"Hey," Danny said, and he smiled down at Steve.

"Hey." Steve's voice came out as a croak, his throat dry like he'd been in the desert for a month.

"Here, have some water." Danny held out a big cup with a straw in it. "But just a few sips because if you barf on yourself I'm seriously not cleaning it up."

Steve took exactly three sips and let the water sit in his mouth until it was warm before letting it trickle down his dry throat. "Not gonna barf."

"Good. You remember what happened to get you checked into this fine establishment?"

"I remember you were over-reacting. My foot hurt, I had a headache--that's it."

Danny closed his eyes and pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose, his lips moving like he was praying. Or counting. When he lowered his hand and opened his eyes, Steve could see the lines of tension in his face. "Steve, your foot hurt because when you cut it--I assume it was on that case with the gun runners the other day?" At Steve's reluctant nod he continued. "Yeah, well, you may have cleaned it up, but there was a piece of that rusty old tour boat _inside_ the cut, okay? And because you're a stubborn, insane human being it got infected and that infection made you really goddamn sick."

Steve raised his eyebrows and rolled that thought around in his head. Sick? From that stupid little cut on his foot? Didn't seem likely. "How, uh, how sick?"

"Sepsis," Danny bit out, "almost septic shock. You were dehydrated and had low blood sugar too because, hey, one without the other is like peanut butter without jelly, right?" He glared at Steve but then he wrapped a hand around Steve's forearm with a gentleness that didn't match his look or tone. "You scared the shit out of me, out of all of us, but you're going to be okay. The doctor said that as long as your fever stays down and assuming your samples don't grow any weird, mutated bacteria you can go home tomorrow."

Sepsis. The thought of it made Steve feel vaguely queasy, and the look on Danny's face--he really didn't like putting it there. "Okay, tomorrow's good. Sorry, Danno."

"Yeah, yeah. If you don't take your antibiotics like you're supposed to, I'll punch you in the face. And Kono'll probably rack you so hard you won't be able to walk even with the crutches."

Steve's eyes had been drifting closed, but he opened them at that. "Crutches?"

"Yes, crutches. You don't even want to see what your foot looks like; it needs a break. Crutches."

Steve sighed and felt himself slipping back into the pull of drugs and sleep. "Hopalong," he murmured.

Danny's hand squeezed his arm, and it felt good, an anchor keeping him awake for another minute. "Yeah, that'll be you for a few days. Go on to sleep now, you big dumbass."

And he did.


End file.
